The Price of Understanding
by Twitch Hopeless-Savage
Summary: Dudley Dursley always figured magic was just some game a bunch of delusional freaks played. It wasn't until the war spilled over into Privet Drive that Dudley realized the pain his cousin must face on a daily basis, all the loss he must've experienced.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: This story contains spoilers from Deathly Hallows. I assume since you read fanfiction you are a big enough fan to have already read it, but if that isn't the case with you, back away now, and please, read the book.

The Price of Understanding

Chapter One

"Big D, it just don't feel right, that's all I'm saying," Piers muttered, his beady eyes darting around the room as if something invisible was going to creep up on them at any moment. "The bottom of my stomach has gone all wonky, like the feeling I get when Liz walks passed, only bad and not as warm."

Dudley Dursley lay sprawled on his bed, face contorted in thought. "Like all the happiness was gone," he muttered, remembering the cloying darkness that engulfed him two summers ago. Involuntarily shaking, he turned his head to look at his Piers, who was sitting on the floor, his pale face looking forward, his eyes unfocused as if concentrated on something very far away. "Piers?" he inquired, shaking his friend's scrawny shoulder.

The young man blinked, his pupils blossoming like a black rose in the brown sea of his eyes. Gazing over to Dudley, Piers shook his head. "I'm just tired of being so damn cold all the time, that's all." Rubbing his arms to generate heat he added, "Think I need myself a nice girl to fix that, don't ya think, Big D?" He tried to force his grimace into a leer but came off looking more like Dudley's Aunt Marge with constipation, which is to say that Dudley was sure if Piers made that face at the ladies he was going to live a very cold and lonely life.

Laughing darkly to himself, Dudley couldn't help but agree with his mate, he wouldn't mind a lady friend to help warm his bones. He was sure that they were still as cold as the day him and his cousin had been attacked by the dementoids thing, or whatever his father called them. Goosebumps rising on his white skin, he tried to forget the fetid breath of despair he had inhaled in the alleyway that evening right before everything went black. However, try as he might, Dudley always let his thoughts wander back to that memory, his eyes fluttering open for a mere second to take in his thin, weak cousin dragging his limp body back to number Four.

At the time, Dudley was far past comprehending what had happened, shoot, he was determined to believe that it had all been Harry's fault, until he read the letter.

&

The Dursley's were to have won an award for their lawn that night, but they were met with an abandoned building and a crazy old woman carrying a sign about the end times, muttering prayers under her breath. Upon arriving home number Four was dark and quiet, nothing was out of place but it still didn't feel right.

Vernon went upstairs to check on Harry while Petunia crashed on the sofa, her primped blonde hair falling limp in her disappointed face. Crumpled in her hand was a speech, thanking everyone for nominating the Dursley's lawn, part of her had been excited that finally, after all these years, she was being recognized for something. Growing up it had always been about Lily, even that creepy, antisocial Snape kid had liked her sister, and though she wasn't jealous of that, it still said loads about her sister's lure on people. The most Petunia ever got was a head cold, and even then it was Lily's first.

Meanwhile, Dudley went into the kitchen to shove his face with a number of healthy treats available to him. After the agonizing ride home with his parents he felt he earned more than carrot sticks and low-fat yogurt. That's when he saw it, a letter propped up on the counter with "The Dursleys" written on it in green ink. His interest piqued, Dudley grabbed it just as his father's voice filled the house.

"Flown the coup! That damn boy has runaway, up and left us. I bet that whole thing about the lawn was a clever rouse! Nasty things that go on his lot's minds, never know what they will come up with," Vernon bellowed, charging into the kitchen to get a glass of water and the pills for his nerves. "Going to be the life of me," he told Dudley, swallowing the pills with a swig of water. "Glad you didn't turn out like that; I was always worried you see. Didn't know if your mum had the genes or not. Best not tell her that though, wouldn't be too happy I reckon."

As his father rambled on, Dudley slipped the letter into his pocket. He was sure it had to do with his cousin's disappearance but he knew if his parents got their hands on it first Dudley would never get the chance to read it. Though the idea of magic scared him, he found it intriguing that his cousin had a whole life outside of his influence, and in this world Harry had made for himself he actually seemed to be important. It seemed like a bad joke in Dudley's opinion, yet reason told him that if his cousin was about to stand trial for what had happened the other night then he would never run the risk of breaking out using his "skills". Someone had to have come here and broke Harry out themselves. Slowly it all began to make sense in his mind; the Dursleys had been sent a letter telling them they won something to get them out of the house so that Harry could make a run for it.

"What are you playing at?" he thought, thinking about the letter as he took his place on the couch.

Petunia was flipping through the channels without purpose, high heeled shoes strewn at her feet, stockings hanging off the back of the sofa. The speech she had prepared was rolled up and she was playing with it nervously, rubbing it between her forefingers. It had been almost four years since she stopped smoking, but Dudley knew the urge haunted her every stress filled moment. More than once he was forced to toss an emergency pack he found shoved at the bottom of her purse or stuck up under the cutlery drawer. His mother never called him out on it, but he always knew she appreciated the help when she hugged him tightly, caressing his blonde hair.

Tonight he reached over and grabbed her nervous hand, holding it between his strong hands. There were times when he thought she was completely mental, but in the end she was still his mother and he loved her. Vernon sauntered into the room, having gone to check the rest of the house for signs of his nephew. Judging by the look on his face Harry was definitely gone and Dudley was a little jealous, he wished he could escape sometimes.

"Well, Petunia, the brat is gone for good," he sighed, falling into his armchair, rubbing the throbbing vein in his temple. "Completely ungrateful if you ask me, just disappearing like that. Bet you anything he will want to come back next summer."

Mrs. Dursley looked pain, setting the remote down on the arm of the sofa. "We have to let him stay here Vernon, you know that. I don't like it any more than you do," she added, watching her husband's face become skeptical and indignant.

"Sounds suspicious, you can never tell with _these_ people, shifty, untrustworthy… I bet none of them want to deal with Harry so they just pin him on us all summer; good honest, hard working folks like ourselves."

"I know you don't believe it, honey. But you are going to have to trust me, if what Harry told us is true then I'm willing to run the chance of having him here if it protects him from…"

"Lord What's-His-Face? Petunia, don't tell me you believe this nonsense. It's all just a plan to keep him coming back here."

Dudley watched his parents with fascination, this was the first time they had said so much about Harry in front of him. He had no idea that his cousin _had_to come back every holiday. Wanting to hear more he began to sink back into the sofa, trying to mask his presence.

His mother looked stricken, her free hand tapping the armrest nervously. "I don't want to believe any more than you do… but… I have to." She looked up at her husband, fear in her eyes. "That isn't something his lot talks about lightly, I remember Lily…" Petunia stopped, shuddering uncontrollably. "Lily told me some really awful stuff, Vernon. Harry is just as much a bother to me as he is to you, but I'm not going to throw him out if there is a chance Lord Voldemort is back."

Dudley and Vernon looked up at the woman who looked shocked that she had just said the name aloud, it was the second time in a week that she had known more about the wizarding world than she let on, and judging by her reaction she wasn't happy with the fact.

Vernon was speechless. Dudley, on the other hand, could vaguely hear his cousin's voice telling them all that Voldemort had returned and was probably the reason those things had been in the alleyway that night. Thinking about it made Dudley's mind freeze, stuck on how desolate he was. Shaking it off, Dudley was determined to be strong; he was a champion boxer after all. Still, he was with his mother in this instance. If they could do something to help it would be unfair to leave Harry to his own devices. Dudley didn't understand everything since his parents refused to say anything outright, but what he did pick up added to his theory that Harry had been escorted from the house, like some sort of celebrity.

The image of his cousin, dressed to the nines in a nice suit, walking down a red carpet while photographers took a million pictures of him waving happily crossed Dudley's mind, making him chuckle louder than he thought because both his parents looked at him, worry etched across their faces. Both of them were sure that his mind was still addled and fragile, and though Dudley was prone to nasty flashbacks, he thought himself quite sane.

"I think you should go lay down, Diddykins," his mother crooned, slipping her hand from his. "It's been a long night and you still don't look well."

"Let the boy be, Petunia. He's tough…" The words emitted from his father's mouth, but Dudley knew the man didn't mean it; he was just as worried as his wife. It had taken a loud argument on Dudley's part to keep them from taking him straight to the hospital.

Sighing, Dudley got up, leaning over his mother to brush a kiss across her cheek. They were bound to continue their discussion as soon as he left, but for now it was over. "Night," he muttered, heading up the stairs. At the landing he stopped and heard his father say louder than he probably intended, "Do you really want to chance the boy in the house with Dudley, he seems to have it in for the boy."

"Vernon, keep it down, Dudley will hear you."

In the bathroom Dudley stared at his reflection and it was easy to understand why his parents were still worried. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, contrasting with the pallor of his face, giving him the appearance of a zombie you would see in a B-movie. Touching the surface of the mirror Dudley quietly wished for the second time that night that he was somewhere other than number Four Privet Drive.

Reaching into his back pocket Dudley extricated the letter, locking the bathroom door. Sitting on the toilet, he ripped open the heavy parchment envelope, pulling out the letter carefully. Shaking it open, his beady eyes narrowed, trying to comprehend the tiny scratch letters that covered the page.

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley_

_You may be aware that four night ago your nephew Harry Potter was forced to use the Patronus charm in order to save not only his own skin, but that of your son as well, from the Dementors. These creatures are highly dangerous, causing all those in close proximity to feel desolate and hopeless. _

_Normally they are guarding the wizard prison Azkaban but in light of the recent reappearance of the Dark Lord we can't be sure if they have defected. _

_The Ministry has asked for Harry's presence at a hearing on the 12__th__ of August, as I'm sure you are aware, to discuss the matter of his use of magic both outside school and in the presence of a muggle. We are sure that he will be acquitted of all charges, but as things are going in the Ministry there is still some doubt. _

_Harry is now in our care and on his way to a safe house. He shall remain there for the remainder of the summer, but we request that you once again take him back at the beginning of next summer. More than ever the protective charm on your residence is important to your nephew's survival now that __the Dark Lord is back. The next few years will be interesting, to say the least, and we hope that we can count on your cooperation. Harry is just as important to us as I'm sure he is to you. _

_Remus Lupin_

Dudley laughed at the last line, Harry was less important to them than the blender. Still, he was amazed at the intricacies of it all, and even more amazed that someone considered Harry Potter important. The idea had been in his head all night, but to have it confirmed was a little disconcerting. His cousin, who was only good for a punching bag and a good laugh, merited special protections, body guards, and safe houses.

Rereading the letter again, Dudley was interested in the protective charm on his house. Peering out the tiny bathroom window he was sure that it would pop out to him, like a glowing dome or something, but outside the night sky was spotted with stars and looked like it always had.

Still, the letter confirmed Harry's story that he was protecting Dudley, and remembering how he felt when it all happened, Dudley was grateful that his cousin had. Magic still made him nervous, but for the first time he saw that it wasn't all about stupid card tricks, there was a danger to it, but there was hope. Even though he had been close to passing out, Dudley could still feel the warming glow of Harry's Patronus as it sauntered past him, chasing the dementor down. For that second Dudley knew everything was going to be just fine in the end.

&

Now he was sitting here with Piers two years later and there was no denying that all wasn't right in Little Whinging. For the last year the town had been blanketed in a fog, which at first had been amusing, but now everyone was beginning to feel damp and cold all the time. Piers wasn't the only one. There were a few cases where the person would just lose their mind, as the stories went. One day they were laughing and smiling and the next day nothing seemed to register, like they were no longer themselves. Dudley hadn't met anyone that experienced this, but it was hard to avoid the stories.

There were even rumors of suicides, but propriety forced the families of the deceased to cover it up. They didn't want anyone to know that their loved one had killed themselves; it was something to be ashamed of, like they had failed to save their own family member.

Harry was still at school, but Dudley wished that he was here now. Maybe he could do something to get rid of the chill, if even for a second. Dudley wasn't as bad off; every time he felt like it was all hopeless he just remembered the silver light of hope. Piers, on the other hand, didn't have that option and Dudley watched as his best mate went from a smiling, laughing, healthy young lad to an angst bag that drew pictures of death and gravestones, talking about how much he hated life now.

Right now Piers was being almost normal, but Dudley was sure that it was just the chocolate he'd given him. It had taken him awhile to remember that Harry had suggested it, but now every time he felt the familiar chill he would take a large bite of chocolate and it would hold the effects off for a little while at least. He had taken to carrying a bag of candies with him at all times and when Piers whispered to Dudley that he felt like dying Dudley didn't hesitate in breaking out the chocolate, even if that meant that he was admitting to not following his diet at all.

There was a soft knock on the door. Before answering, Dudley hopped of his bed and shoved all the wrappers under his bed, straightening his shirt he flipped the lock of his door and opened it. His mother stood on the other side her face looking like spoiled oatmeal, a vacuum clutched in her hand.

"Your Aunt Marge is coming for a visit," she said shakily. "Some wild animal killed all of her dogs, apparently he tore them limb from…" Petunia shuttered, cutting herself off. "Anyway, she can't stay at home anymore and is going to stop over here for a few days before heading up to your Grandmother's house."

Dudley's eyes widened, and though the death of the dogs didn't upset him, he still felt sorry for his aunt, those animals were her life. "How is she holding up?"

"She is crushed, of course," and though Petunia still looked upset, her tone of voice gave away that she thought it was stupid to be depressed about the death of some dirty dogs. "She should be here in a few hours."

Which would explain why she looked sick, Marge had given her absolutely no advanced notice and now Petunia had to rush to scrub down every surface in the house before her sister-in-law arrived. Even if he wanted to, Dudley wouldn't have offered his help; Petunia seemed to think that Dudley shouldn't have to do any housework; that he had more important things to do. Which was fine by him, he preferred to be locked up in his room while his mother tore through the house.

"So make yourself look sharp," she added her voice short and annoyed. "Piers should probably be getting home too. Doesn't your mother miss you?" She peered past Dudley, directing the conversation at Piers who had until that time been playing with loose bit of string on his pants.

Dudley knew the answer was no, but Piers shrugged his shoulders like it was possible. If his mother wasn't drunk off her ass she would sometimes notice that Piers was there, just long enough to tell him that he ruined her life or something equally endearing.

"Well, I will see you both later. I've got to go get Marge's room ready." Petunia shuffled down the hall, dragging the vacuum behind like a dead body.

Shutting his door, Dudley turned to look at his friend who was beginning to pale again. That was the problem with chocolate, it never lasted long enough. Silently he stood up, coming up to Dudley's chest, his thin face turned up.

"I guess that's my cue," he said, his voice weak and tired. "I'll see you around, Big D." Opening the door he walked out, letting it shut behind him. Dudley had intended for him to stay until his mother got really annoyed, but Piers seemed to be glad to have an excuse to leave.

Sighing, Dudley fell onto his bed. Everything was falling apart, not quickly, more like a decomposing body, rotting and collapsing in on itself.

"Like all the happiness was gone…" he said for the second time that day, letting the words reverberate off the ceiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The doorbell rang ominously through the house, the last baleful note almost sounding like the loud howl of a bulldog as it sat alone under the night sky. Dudley prided himself on the comparison as he lumbered down the narrow staircase dressed smartly in a suit and tie. To his pleasure the pants hung looser on him then they had the year previous, it finally seemed like his diet was sticking after two years. However, putting himself in a good mood seemed pointless when he opened the door and a wave of sadness and depression flooded over him, drowning out all the cheerful thoughts that seconds ago danced through his mind.

Aunt Marge stood on the threshold looking worn out. The sight of her bloodshot eyes and puffy face redefined Dudley's perception of the once formidable woman; she seemed small and weak, her clothes hanging unhealthily from her frame.

"Hello, Aunt Marge," Dudley greeted grimly; taking her bags from her, he stepped aside to let her past.

"Good afternoon, Dudley. Is my brother home yet?" Even the husky bark of her voice sounded more like the mournful crooning of the lark. She floated into the foyer, barely touching the door, which slowly swung towards the frame. Pushing it shut, Dudley ascended the stairs sandwiched between two heavy suitcases. Looking down in the hallway he watched Marge shuffle into the sitting room, stopping for a second to tell Ripper to follow. Voice dying in her throat, Marge quickly turned her face forward again, sighing deeply.

In his mind, Dudley said a small prayer for Ripper the bulldog, his lips tugging into a small smile as he remembered Harry sitting up in a tree begging to be let down as Ripper circled the trunk growling viciously. That whole evening Dudley sat up in his room staring out the window, which was level with his cousin, who was holding tightly onto the sturdy trunk. Whenever Harry would look over Dudley took a large bite out of a candy bar, giving his cousin a chocolately grin.

Dudley almost preferred those days when Harry was just a freak, his parents were happy to lock him away in the cupboard when he did something weird and Dudley was never at a loss for something to punch. Then Harry got his letter from that school and everything changed inside number Four.

At first no one explained to Dudley what was going on, all he knew was that more than anything else he needed to know what was so secret about all those letters his father destroyed. When they started to shoot out of the fireplace it hadn't even crossed his mind that there was anything funny about the whole thing, he was just confused as to who would be so desperate to get in touch with his skinny, geeky cousin.

After that all he could remember was being afraid as they moved from spot to spot, his father continuously growing crazier as the days went on. Inside the cabin in the middle of the storm, Dudley finally thought things were going to settle down. He recalled throwing a few tantrums about not getting to watch his programs, but which ones they were Dudley couldn't remember.

Then the giant showed up. The next thing he knew Harry was being told he was a wizard and Dudley felt a pang of jealousy, why couldn't he be one. He was about to beg his parents to let him be a wizard too when his father blew up and started going on about how it was all bullshit and even Petunia voiced her opinion, calling her own sister a freak.

That shut Dudley up but didn't take away his desire to do magic. The giant man took care of that, Dudley was sure he had died and gone to hell when he felt his backside and touched a curly pig's tail unwinding from his bottom. Petunia had cried over him as they all huddled in a corner upstairs, his father breathlessly telling him that magic was bad and Dudley didn't argue with him. He was still pissed that no one had told him, he was sure if he knew beforehand the tail never would have grown.

From that point on the family dynamic never returned to the way it was. Harry became less and less a part of the everyday functions of the household and its inhabitants were left no choice but to start looking at themselves for problems without Harry there to be a scapegoat. They no longer had a release for all their anger and frustration and that first Christmas after Harry started school Dudley realized that his life wasn't as perfect as he once thought.

&

Dudley rapped his father smartly on the heels with his Smelting's stick, his bowler sitting like a crown atop cropped blonde hair. He had returned for Christmas holiday the night before and already he was wishing he was back at school; at least there he had smaller peers to beat up on, without Harry Potter Privet Drive didn't seem as fun. Usually his father would chuckle and pat Dudley on the back when his son hit him with the stick but today Vernon didn't seem as keen.

"Knock that off, son," he grunted, opening the front door to collect the morning paper. Sure that his father hadn't felt it properly Dudley smacked his father hard in the calf. Vernon rounded on the boy, shaking the rolled up paper threateningly in his face. "I told you to stop that, Dudley. Now go take off that hat and put your stick away. Your grandmother should be getting here soon and I don't want her to see her only grandson acting like a hooligan."

Dudley stood there stunned, the Smelting's stick falling to the ground and rolling across the floor where it stopped at Vernon's slippered feet. He stepped on it, looking at his son. "I really hoped that school would straighten you out a bit more, maybe I should have a talk with the Headmaster. Remind him who saved his neck on more than one occasion."

Bending over to retrieve the stick, Dudley retreated upstairs, holding onto the stick tightly so that it didn't accidentally bump into the wall. It was the first time he had been reprimanded so harshly by his father and he wasn't sure how to take it. He was used to hearing Potter receive the same treatment on a regular basis and more often than not revelled in the abuse.

His mother sauntered out of her bedroom in her dressing gown, pulling a rogue curler from her blonde locks. She smiled at her son, pride twinkling in her eyes.

"How is my little, Diddy Dumpkins?" she asked, her saccharine voice assuaging the near tantrum mood of her son.

"Daddy is being mean, he yelled at me." Dudley wasn't afraid to amplify the situation; his father would never stand up to Petunia.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it, Diddykins. He is under a lot of holiday stress right now, love. Just give him some space. No matter what, he still loves you."

Dudley's mouth dropped open in shock. Where was the righteous indignation of a protective mother? Where were the comforting hug and a promise of a steaming mug of hot cocoa? Of course it was all Harry's fault. If he had been there Vernon would have an outlet for all the stress he was dealing with and Dudley could go about his holiday as he always did. As it was, he was sure there was going to be more of this odd behaviour from his parents.

&

Throwing Marge's luggage on her bed, Dudley could hear her loud sobs from downstairs and he could swear the walls were shaking. It was most likely due to a build up of tears, Dudley hypothesised, he was sure that the woman never cried for a single second in her life before this moment. This was probably why no girl ever wanted to stay with him, he was always making light of emotional moments and girls were just so serious sometimes. No matter what though, he stood behind the argument that what the world needed more of right now was humour, judging by the state of things.

No one else agreed though, it was a facet of the state of things that everyone enjoyed to wallow in their misery and even when Dudley worked up the wit to crack a joke no one smiled. His mother would fake one, but it came and went, like it never even existed.

That made it harder to keep a sane attitude, it was easier to be happy when there was someone to laugh with but more often than not Dudley felt himself growing more depressed at the sight of all the bloodshot eyes and grim frowns surrounding him.

Staring at the fog through the guest bedroom window Dudley tried to imagine what the dementoids looked like. When he closed his eyes he saw a caricature of one of his teachers telling him that he was a big, stupid bully. Cloying hands covered in cheap jewellery, the woman had the look of someone who had never been laid in their life. Thinking about a group of creatures bearing her resemblance floating around the countryside depressing everyone both terrified and amused Dudley.

When Harry got home Dudley planned to ask his cousin about the appearance of the dementoids because he was sure his teacher theory wasn't correct. He figured it was out of character to outwardly display interest in the world Harry inhabited but there seemed to be a crack somewhere. Dudley didn't doubt that all the mist and depression was all due to dementoids floating about all over, it all seemed to fit. While the idea of a merging of the two worlds scared the shit out of Dudley he wasn't one to march into anything unprepared. If it came down to it he was ready to give all those dark nasties the ol' one-two.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dudley stopped at the bottom step as Vernon walked in the door, throwing his wool coat across the back of the chair.

"Hello, father," he greeted.

"What?" Vernon looked up, just noticing his son standing there. "Oh! Hello, Dudley. Where's your aunt?"

"She's in the sitting room with mum. Can I go out tonight?" Dudley didn't have anywhere in particular that he wanted to visit, it just seemed that wandering down to the park would be a lot more fun than listening to Marge recount the deaths of her poor animals.

"Don't be absurd, Marge is our guest tonight and I expect you to give her a big hug and tell her how sorry you are. Those dogs meant a lot to her and while the rest of us may never understand it all we know is she is upset." This would be one of the moments where having Harry around would be beneficial. Dudley figured that after a few verbal jabs at Harry she would be back to her normal, gruff self and he could go out and have a smoke.

It had been a while since he properly smoked, nevertheless every once in awhile he got the hankering for a good smoke and right now was one of those times.

"Going to the bathroom," Dudley answered shortly, turning back up the stairs.

"Make sure you come back down. Marge likes you," Vernon called after, disappearing from view as Dudley turned at the landing and continued his ascent.

Before going to the bathroom Dudley stopped at his bedroom to retrieve a pack of cigarettes shoved in the back of an old teddy bear. His lighter was lodged in the head tucked behind dead flies and bits of fluff. The poor thing had been torn apart after Dudley threw a particularly nasty tantrum when his mother yelled at him for wetting his bed. He was still convinced that Harry was behind it, Dudley wasn't baby enough to do something so embarrassing.

Shoving the contraband deep in his pockets Dudley walked across the hall and pulled a large wool blanket from the linen closet, throwing it over his broad shoulders. In the bathroom he rolled it up and used it to seal up the crack under the door, which was locked. Throwing open the window he tossed the pack of cigs and the lighter onto the counter next to the hair gels, deodorants, and colognes Dudley used regularly, meticulously organised by Petunia.

Before his diet Dudley had found moving about the bathroom a chore. It still wasn't easy because most of his fat had turned to muscle, but at least he felt better about himself when he saw his reflection. Rolling up his sleeve he flexed in the mirror appreciating the muscles that rippled beneath his skin. Who needed magic when with this one arm Dudley could knock another man out cold?

Continuing to work his muscles Dudley imagined a pretty little blonde girl, her arms wrapped around his bicep as he lifted her tiny body off the ground. "You are so strong, Big D," she would whisper in his ear. In bed she would lay tight against his body letting him protect her from whatever harm befell them in the middle of the night.

Grinning stupidly, Dudley rolled his sleeve back down over the bulky flesh, taking a seat on the toilet. Positioning a cigarette in his fingers his large fingers awkwardly played with the lighter until a flame sprouted from it, the light glittering off the freshly scrubbed tiles.

Inhaling deeply, Dudley held the smoke in his lungs, letting it warm up his body as the nicotine rushed through his system. Right before he began to choke he let it out, watching the smoke twirl sensually out the window, disappearing against the grey sky. He was aware of the hypocrisy of it all as he took another hit, throwing away his mother's while he had his own secret stash. Dudley didn't feel the need to be the perfect son, or the perfect person even. All he wanted was to make sure his mother was healthy and safe.

Tapping the ashes out into the pristine sink, Dudley turned his head sharply when someone knocked on the door. Standing up quickly, he lifted up the seat, flushing the half-used cigarette. Pretending like he was washing his hands he rinsed the ashes down the sink and then sprayed air freshener all over the tiny room.

"Open up, boy," bellowed Marge's deep voice from the other side of the door. Pushing the blanket to the side he followed his Aunt's orders, hoping that he the smile of his face was appropriately apologetic and grim. She came into view as the door swung inwards, hiding the blanket from sight. "Wipe that look off your face, I'm not dying."

Shoving past him she grabbed his pack of cigarettes and shoved one in her mouth, holding the lighter up to her mouth. She looked over at him like he was stupid. "Well, are you going to shut the door? The last thing we need is your mother getting a whiff of this," she said, lighting her cigarette.

Stunned into silence, Dudley let the door close behind him, kicking the blanket back into place. Marge's relaxation was audible, letting out a huge sigh as smoke slipped from her thick lips; her large body sank against the bathroom counter.

"Your mother means well, I'm sure," Marge continued, sucking hard on the cigarette. "But it's obvious she doesn't give a shit about my dogs. As far as I can tell the whole lot of you could care less. Not that it matters, you were never animal people."

Not wanting to sit there like a rock Dudley grasped for something to say. His memory of Ripper came to mind and he relayed it to Marge, whose frown turned into a large grin as she chuckled loudly, exhaling clouds of smoke.

"That is more comforting than any apologetic nonsense your mother spews so well."

"So, what exactly happened?" Dudley asked, hoping his aunt was up for one more retelling.

"There isn't much to say. I went out into town for the evening to have a few drinks with Colonel Fubster and when I got home the door was shattered and all my babies were..." She took a puff off her cigarette, which was more telling than any gruesome details she could spin together. "Vernon says it was my fault for living out in the middle of nowhere, away from people, but I don't think he's right. You see, I don't think it was wild animals at all. I mean, the door was torn to pieces. It was solid wood; I don't think any animal could have done that."

That's when Dudley noticed the glazed look in her eyes and was sure that his father had added whiskey to her tea, though in reality it was probably more like adding tea to her whiskey. Which explained why she was talking freely without all the waterworks he heard earlier.

"Not an animal?" Dudley prodded, interested in his aunt's theories.

"You see, they were torn apart and the cops indentified bite marks and everything, but they said the jaws were bigger than anything they had seen. One of them joked that it was the full moon and it could be a werewolf, which I thought was really insensitive of them, laughing like that as my puppies lay there mutilated. Of course I told them off but they had already written me off as a crazy lady who lived by herself. I'm sure if some rich bitch's darling poodle had suffered the same fate the bloody royal guard would get involved."

Having reached the end of the cigarette, Marge flushed the butt and sprayed the air with the scent of spring tulips.

"Honestly, I don't know what it could be, but I'm not the only one. There have been a few farmers around me that lost livestock in the last few months, something whole cows will go missing. Now tell me, what kind of creature could do that?"

Out in the hall, Dudley looked over at Marge as she brushed a few stray ashes off her jacket. Right now she didn't hurt as much because she was drunk but he didn't envy where she was going to be when she sobered up.

"You're a good kid, Dudley. Despite having absolutely clueless parents," she breathed, smacking him proudly on the back. "I told them I was going to take a nap so I might as well lie down until supper is ready. Make sure your mother goes to the market to get some real food, I don't want any of that rabbit food."

With that she disappeared into the guest room, leaving Dudley standing in the hall thoroughly confused as to what happened. Marge was right, of course. His parents were clueless as to what was really going on, but he didn't hate them for it. They were exact in the reality they created and Dudley supposed they deserved it, even if it wasn't for him; he had his own illusions to hide behind.

Ambling down the stairs for what seemed like the millionth time that day Dudley considered what Marge had told him. It did seem unlikely that a regular animal could just tear down a solid wood door. He remembered what the cop had said and wondered if werewolves really did exist. There were dementoids and Dark Lords, so how couldn't there be werewolves?

He put that on his list of things to ask Harry, even though out of them the idea of werewolves scared him the most. If there really was a whole magical community that Harry was a part of, Dudley wondered how the all could handle such nightmarish creatures all the time, the idea of it seemed exhausting.

Downstairs the phone rang.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Hello," answered Petunia in the kitchen as Dudley wandered into the sitting room, nodding to his father.

"Dudley, for you," his mother said, poking her head around the corner. "It's Piers." She covered up the mouthpiece. "Is everything alright, he sounds upset?" she whispered. Dudley shrugged his shoulders and took the phone from his mum, who gave him a look like she expected to be filled in on everything when he finished.

"Hey," Dudley said, waiting until his mother was seated on the sofa, the latest celebrity rag in her lap. "What's up?"

"Can you meet me at the park, right now?" Piers replied darkly, his voice cracking as if he had just been crying. In the background he could hear Piers' mum shouting. "She's drunk again."

Dudley looked over at his parents, Petunia recapping the article she had just read to Vernon who was clicking on the remote, his eyes set firmly on the television, nodding every once in awhile when Petunia would mention something scandalous. It was a routine they perfected during the year Dudley spent all night out at the park with his mates smoking blunts and beating up little children.

Sometimes he missed that life, but ever since Dennis got picked up by the law for possession the gang kind of fell apart. At first it was a huge blow to Dudley, who missed being called Big D with reverence and fear. Unfortunately, it was completely out of his hands. Dennis was shipped up north to boarding school while Malcolm and Gordon got into heavy drugs and ran away to live in London. The last he'd heard they were crashing in some shit-hole hovel too strung out to care.

Now it was just Dudley and Piers and they weren't as _hardcore_ as they used to be. Their idea of a good time was hanging out downtown at a record store all day sampling rap albums and making bets to see who could get the most phone numbers. Usually they didn't score any, but it was fun all the same. Dudley couldn't talk to women very well, which made Piers laugh until it was his turn and he scared them off by talking too much, giving Dudley a good chuckle.

Even with the two of them they were still a crew and Dudley was going to protect his own. He was always Big D, even when there was no one to call him that, and that made him the leader.

"Just come over here, I will just tell my mum that yours is working late and there isn't a lot of food in the house. You know how she loves to feed people."

"Right," Piers said as something shattered in the background.

"It's all gone! GOD DAMN IT, PIERS! Did you drink all my whiskey again," Mrs. Polkiss shouted. "Just like your father!"

"I'm going out, mum," Piers muttered, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"Your father went out, look just like him you do. Never came back, did he? Are you going to leave me too, Piers?" The accusation in her voice was biting and Dudley felt a pang of pity for both his best mate and his mum, they had both gone through a lot after Piers' father left, only Piers handled the transition more smoothly.

"I'm on the phone, mum. Stop sounding so mental."

"Is that Dudley Dursley? Tell that fat ass that his mother is just as bad. With her coddling she screwed up as a mother way more than I did. Why do you think no one talks to her? She's a gossip and a bitch."

"Hey! Tell her to keep 'er mouth shut up me mum," Dudley told Piers defensively, wishing he was over there to give the drunken cow a piece of his mind.

"You shouldn't be talking, mum," Piers shouted, his voice barely reaching Dudley's ear through the now muffled mouthpiece. "What are you doing you crazy bitch?! Don't pull that…"

The other line went dead and Dudley was left to imagine the row that was raging between Piers and his mother. Hanging up the phone he wasn't sure if Piers would be coming over anymore, though he hoped he would, for the sake of his sanity.

Hearing the phone hang up, Petunia turned her head, a million questions building up on her tongue.

"Piers might come 'round later this evening," he informed her, cutting her off. Falling onto the sofa he set his eyes on the television, his father having settled on some game show.

"We have company, Dudley," Petunia said, though her tone of voice suggested that if she had more information to go on she could see the possibility of Piers coming over.

"I'm sure Aunt Marge won't mind," he replied, not walking into her trap; there were just some things Privet Drive didn't need to be talking about. She might've gone about it all wrong but Piers' mum was right about Petunia. Except for being a bitch, which was just the whiskey talking.

"She's been through a lot and I'm sure the last thing she wants is her peace to be disturbed by two rowdy teenagers."

The sad thing about all this was Dudley knew that next week when Harry returned she would go back to the loving mother. For an object or person to prove its worth it first has to make another object or person seem inferior. Dudley was the first one-up Petunia had on her sister, it just took Harry's presence to remind her of that.

"Piers is coming over, mum. His…" Dudley sighed; he was going to have to give her something. "His mother is ill." He grimaced as the words left his mouth, if there was anything he shouldn't have said it was probably something about Piers' mother, not after what she said on the phone.

Nevertheless, Petunia's expression softened, her attention turning back to the magazine. "He can stay for a few hours, but I want you guys downstairs so you don't annoy your aunt."

"And so you can pump Piers for more information," Dudley thought grimly, watching his mother innocently flip through the magazine like she didn't want to know what disease it was and if it was fatal. It was common knowledge that Piers wasn't able to lie under pressure, a fact Petunia found quite useful when she began to suspect that Dudley wasn't going out to tea every night. She never voiced her suspicions out loud, nor ever accused Dudley of anything, but after she had a little chat with Piers she was keener on Dudley staying home to keep her company.

"Didn't intend to annoy her." Of course, they could be screaming bloody murder and she would never hear it over her snoring, which sounded like a rockslide crashing down a hill made of glass. There was times that Dudley suspected Marge could give Vernon a run for his money.

&

Twenty minutes later there was a soft knock on the door. Piers had taken his sweet time to get over to Privet Drive, it worried Dudley, Piers wasn't exactly punctual but he wasn't one to linger, especially when leaving his house. Feeling the eyes of his mother on his back, Dudley disappeared into the foyer.

Swinging the door open Dudley jumped back as Piers stumbled into the house, blood dripping from his forehead and the corner of his mouth.

"Mum," Dudley shouted, dragging his mate to the kitchen and the safety of the linoleum floor. Present situation or not, Petunia would not appreciate a bloody carpet.

Petunia hurried into the kitchen, magazine clutched in her hands. "Oh," she gasped, her gaze taking in the mess that was Piers. "My poor dear." Pushing Dudley aside she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the faucet, wringing the excess water out. Tenderly, she began to wipe up the blood, which was still streaming from a cut on his head. It wasn't deep, but head wounds always bled a lot.

Piers was beginning to pale considerably, wavering in the chair. His eyelids fluttered shut.

"Dudley, keep him still," Petunia ordered as she began to pour hydrogen peroxide over Piers wounds, the sharp sting causing his vacant eyes to open wide. "He's lost a lot of blood."

As Dudley kept a firm arm around Piers' scrawny shoulders Petunia administered bandages to all the open wounds, smoothing them out gently with her fingers. There was a subtlety to her actions that Dudley wasn't used to and he sure this was the real Petunia, not the caricature like facade that she wore from day to day for whatever reason she did. It wasn't only her though, all the Dursley's behaved in such a manner and it was only now that Dudley was realizing that they were capable of a whole lot more.

The two of them stayed with Piers in the kitchen until reality set once again within his being. Understanding returned to his gaze and he weakly thanked the two of them, touching his bandaged forehead unconsciously. Vernon poked his head around the corner to see what all the happening was but Petunia told him to hush, sending him right back to the tele.

Once Piers could sit up by himself Petunia handed him a glass of water and grabbed Dudley's arm, leading him out into the hallway.

"What is going on, Dudley?" Her voice didn't express morbid curiosity, there was no whiff of victory on her person, she was genuinely concerned about Piers. The boy had been Dudley's friend since grade school and Petunia was fond of him for whatever reasons she had.

Watching his friend through a crack in the kitchen door, looking pathetic as he sipped his water, Dudley sighed, turning to his mother. "It's his mum, ever since Piers' dad left them she has been drinking a lot. It never got this bad, but she's been really abusive to Piers."

Petunia nodded. "He will have to stay with us then. We won't get the authorities involved; they don't help much in these cases. They'll just take him away."

"What about his mum? She is going to come looking for him."

"Don't worry about that woman, Dudley. I will take care of her."

For a second Dudley imagined his mother decked out in the leather garb of Xena: Warrior Princess slicing Mrs. Polkiss into little bits, the horrid woman screaming in agony as her throat was slit open, blood raining from the wound.

"Watch yourself, mum. Wouldn't want her to do to you what she did to Piers."

"I'm tougher than I look, Dudley," she said, a warm smile spreading across her face at her son's worry. "I've beaten up a few people in my life."

Dudley was shocked. "You? Beat someone up? Who?"

"Just some boy," Petunia replied, suddenly less keen on the subject. "It doesn't really matter now, that was a long time ago."

He was still interested, but her lack of enthusiasm warned him not to push it. "I think I should come along."

"I will be fine, Diddykins." Petunia kissed him on the cheek. "Now, go keep Piers company, he needs some cheering up about now. I'm going to check on Marge then I will make us all a bite to eat."

Dudley returned to kitchen, leaving Petunia alone in the hall. She stared down at her fists, remembering the way they slammed into Severus' face.

&

_She watched him from the bushes as he walked out of his house, heading in the direction of the river. He was stuffing jars into a bag and Petunia thought she caught sight of a bizarre creature looking right at her hiding spot. Shivers running down her spine, she waited until Snape was around the corner before following, determination set in her face._

_As she neared the river she saw his back bent over the water, pouring the creatures into the slow current with a soft splash._

_"What are you doing, freak?" she yelled, stopping a few yards from him. _

_He whipped around, his greasy black hair slapping against his pallid cheek. "What do you want, muggle?" Snape snapped, stuffing the empty jars back into the knapsack. _

_"You ruined her," Petunia breathed, silently cursing herself. She had meant to do this a lot more eloquently. "You turned her into a freak." _

_Snape sauntered closer, leering menacingly. "You are the freak, you can't do magic, what use are you?"_

_Her arm swung forward, fist connecting with his jaw. There was a loud crack and he fell to the ground, looking shocked. "I just want my sister back," she cried, turning away from him and climbing up the river bank, shaking like mad. "I don't want her to be like you." _

&

"I really hate her, Dudley," Piers seethed. "Sometimes I just want to take a knife and slice her open."

It wasn't as funny to imagine Piers dressed up as Xena, that image was almost frightening to Dudley. There was nothing heroic in the imagining, just a dark, troubled young man dressed in a leather skirt.

They were sitting on Dudley's bed. Petunia shooed them out of the kitchen as soon as she returned, back to her normal motherly self.

"I know you do, mate. But remember, you are going to stay here now."

"And be just like my dad, which will thrill mum. I told her I would never leave her, but I never knew she was going to end up like this." Piers sounded sad as he said this, looking down at his hands. "Why does everyone have to be so fucked up?"

Dudley was at a loss for words. Piers was acting a bit mental, going from angry to sad to angry to sad within the span of minutes. There was nothing he could do but sit there as his best mate ranted and just nod his head every once in awhile to show that he was listening.

"I have to see her once last time, just to explain things."

"No, you really shouldn't. She could've killed you."

"But it's going to kill her if I don't at least say good-bye."

"Let the bitch die. You wanted to kill her a few minutes ago."

"I am not worried, she will get what she deserves in the end."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Piers lay awake on Dudley's floor, bundled up in a sleeping bag, staring at the ceiling as Dudley snored loudly in the bed beside him, face turned towards the wall. A few minutes ago he had been muttering about dementoids and how cold he was, but Piers assumed it was a nightmare, for which he would most assuredly tease Dudley about in the morning.

Outside a heavy fog was pressing against the window, so much that only a scant amount of light from the lamp outside the house actually reached the bedroom, giving the window a soft yellow glow. The atmosphere it gave the room was almost ethereal, like a transitory state between life and death. Only it was colder than Piers would expect death to be, more cloying and frightening than comforting and welcoming.

"You're going to leave me, aren't you?" His mother screamed the words at his back as he opened the front door, stepping out into the soft light of dusk.

He turned to look at her, regret boiling in his throat. "I told you that I would never leave, mum. I promised you, right?"

"You father promised the same thing. Till death do you part."

Rolling over onto his side, Piers looked out the window, imagining his mother sitting in their house, drinking her whiskey, afraid to be sober long enough to realize the pain.

Dudley snorted, rolling over onto his back. On the wall above his bed hung his boxing gloves. Piers thought about the finals that year, how Dudley took down one opponent right after the other. Only no one was cheering loudly, they all just watched the fight, clapping and whistling weakly when someone would fall flat on their back, down for the count.

Even then, inside with a crowd of people Piers felt cold. The last year was difficult to take in. The tragedy of the bridge collapse, followed by the hurricane up north, not to mention random murders, and weather to match the mood of the country. However, all of that took a back seat to his father leaving. He just went out one evening and never came back, no note, no phone call, nothing. His mother had desperately called every hospital in Surrey hoping that maybe he was there, but in the end she had to face reality; her husband had left them.

Now he was planning on doing the same thing and it tore him apart. It hurt to be around her, seeing her condition deteriorate before his eyes, but he couldn't leave her alone. He loved her too much, despite the events of the evening. Touching the bandages, he could see the anguish in her eyes as she hit him across the head with the rolling pin.

Piers wanted more than anything to be there for her, but he didn't see how he could help her when he was in the same boat. Without his father Piers felt alone, unsure of himself. He had always been Piers' best friend, but now that he was gone Piers had no one to talk to. Dudley was only good for so much; he wasn't big on the talking, especially when it came to such personal matters. He listened, nodded, and took it all in but Piers got nothing out of him but companionship, someone to waste time with. In his own way he took care of him, but Dudley had too much on his own plate to appreciate the immensity of Piers' situation.

There was a rift in society and everyone was slowly drawing away from each and into themselves as the world around them broke out into chaos. Riots in the streets, murders, gang violence; the Prime Minister himself spoke on the tele about what was going on, assuring everyone that it was all unrelated and was being taken care of. Who was taking care of it, and how it was being done was beyond the sights of the nation.

"I have to see her," Piers whispered, strengthening his resolve. He'd decided that he would stay with the Dursleys; he couldn't help himself if he was so focused on helping her, but he wasn't going to leave her with nothing. She deserved at least one good-bye.

Slipping out of his covers, he slipped out of the room, tiptoeing down the hallway and stairs, the roar of the Dursley's snoring filled the house. Stepping into his shoes and pulling on his jacket Piers unlocked the front door, opening it slowly. Once outside his pace quickened, the last thing he wanted was to be out in the chilling mist.

His visibility was reduced to an arm's length in front of his face. The fog around him twisted and curled, only there wasn't a breeze, just an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. With each footstep Piers felt more removed from himself, the sound of his mother's blows ringing in his ears.

Never leave me... Till death do us part… Just like your father… I need you Piers...

Something brushed against his face. Piers turned around quickly, squinting through the muffled darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever touched him. He jumped; there it was again, like a clammy hand caressing the back of his neck. His spine shook with fear, his legs almost giving out from under him. Bile rose in his throat as the cold closed in around him, his mother's voice screaming in his ears.

"Love me! LOVE ME! DON'T LEAVE YOU BRAT! I RAISED YOU! YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT LEAVING! I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES! "

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, like there was a wet towel over his mouth, his insides wrenched dangerously, and then there was nothing.

&

Dedalus Diggle hurried over to the boy, hoping that his Patronus made it in time. He had watched the young man leaving Number 4 and hadn't thought to follow him since his orders were protect Harry's relatives, but when he saw the Dementors come out of nowhere and go after him he felt it was safe to leave his post.

Bent over Piers' body, Diggle pulled out his wand and revived him, quickly stowing the wand back inside his robes. Slowly the boy began to rouse, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked over at Diggle and started, scooting away from the queer looking man.

"Who are you? What's going on?" His head felt like it was going to explode, his entire body weak and shaking.

"No time for that, where do you live? No good, being out this late on your own. Let me escort you home."

There was a loud meow from their right and a cat came out of the darkness, its tail puffed up considerably, the hairs on its back sticking straight up. Startled, Piers shouted, following over onto his back again.

Diggle squatted down next to it, petting the creature softly, whispering comforting words to it until its fur returned to normal. Then he bent even closer, cupping his hand over the cat's ear. Having pushed himself back up into a seated position, Piers watched this exchange curiously. For a second it looked as if the cat were nodding but Piers was pretty sure he hit his head in the fall and as a result was seeing things.

With a flick of its tail the cat was gone and the man stood back up, straightening out his robes. "Poor thing, just needed a little love," he said unconvincingly, his voice high and squeaky.

"Were you talking to it?" Piers breathed, his lungs still feeling compressed. In his mind he saw Dudley's cousin Harry talking to the snake at the zoo right before it attacked them.

Dedalus didn't tell the boy anything, just reached out his hand and helped him up onto his feet. He only came up to Piers' chest. With his hand wrapped around the boy's back to keep him steady he led him to the corner.

"Left."

As they hobbled along Piers thought he could see dark shapes hovering on the edges of the night, hidden deep in the fog. They whispered his name, their words laced with images of his dad walking out the door, smiling at Piers, telling him he would be back soon.

"Ignore them," Dedalus muttered, his tiny eyes darting back and forth nervously. "Focus on something happy, hold it deep inside you."

But there was nothing happy inside Piers, all he felt was sorrow and anguish. Their walk felt like a gauntlet, with each step his emotional core took another blow. Already weakened it wasn't long before he was crying silently, his body becoming limper in Diggle's arms.

"Damn Dementors," the little man cursed, his words falling short of Piers ears, which felt as if they had been shoved full of buzzing bees. "Fluttering about all over the place, no wonder all the muggles are going mad."

Several streets down Piers was barely able to mutter, "Turn right here, it's the first house on the left."

Dragging Piers up the front steps, Dedalus magicked the door open, letting the boy fall onto the foyer floor. As the door snapped shut the wizard turned on the spot and with a soft crack disappeared.

&

Something dug into Piers' side, rousing him from his stupor. Through the haze curtaining his eyes he could see the outline of his mother standing over him a whiskey bottle in hand and a grimace on her face.

"Go out all night and then stumble home, you rotten piece of filth. Did you and that fat ass friend of yours go get drunk again? Answer me."

She kicked him hard in the gut, taking a swig of alcohol. "You left me all alone, just like your father."

As her foot swung toward him again, Piers rolled back and reached out, grabbing her foot and tugging hard so she lost her balance. With a loud crash she slammed into the coat rock, her body buried in an avalanche of hats and jackets.

His muscles feeling like lead, Piers strained to get up, hobbling into the kitchen, the screams of his mother scratching at his retreating back.

Grabbing onto the ledge of a counter, Piers held himself up, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Voices whispered in his head, just quiet enough so he couldn't decipher what they said, but they were still there, like a low hum that was slowly getting louder and more distracting.

He pounded at his head, screaming for it to stop. Images of his father dead in some dark alley filled his mind, tramps stripping the body of all its possessions. As it got worse the pounding turned into scratching, chunks of skin ripping up under his fingernails as he tried to drive the voices out.

"I hate you..."

The blood was warm on his face, driving out the chill that had filled him with dread for months. The voices began to wane, calm returning to his mind. Piers sank to the floor, wiping his bloody hands on the knees of his jeans.

His eye shut slowly, his breathing returning to normal. The plan was to rest until morning and then make his way back to Dudley's. There was no closure for him here, just a crazy mother who didn't deserve to get a proper good-bye. No wonder his father left so quickly.

_Crash_

Glass fragments flew at Piers, who instinctively covered his face. Once the onslaught had ended he looked to his side where just the top of his mother's whiskey bottle lie, the ends jagged and cruel.

The woman flew at him then, her hands wrapping around his throat.

"Ungrateful shit, never should've given birth to you... Should've listened to me mum, the coat hanger was the only way to go with a little shit like you."

Piers gasped, his hands slamming onto the linoleum, shards of glass slipping into his skin. As consciousness began to fade Piers grabbed the neck of the bottles and with all the strength left in him sank the broken end into his mother's face, twisting viciously. There was a sickening squelch as Mrs. Polkiss fell away from his, the bottle lodged into her cheek, the skin torn and ragged.

A pool of blood rolled across the floor, pulling around Piers as the cold returned, his body shaking violently, limbs erratically flinging out. The memories poured into his mind as his mother's dead eyes stared up at him. The times she kissed him goodnight, the way they uesd to dance to the radio while his father read the evening paper, it all seeped into him, blood memories, his mother's last thoughts, he was sure.

Then it all made sense. If her gave her his own blood, shared his memories with her, poured them over her body, it would all be better. They would be together again, the way they used to be.

His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle again, dislodging it from his mother's face, but all the hate had left his body. All he felt now was sadness. Rolling up his sleeve he took the broken bottle end and held it to his wrist, puncturing his pale, sweaty skin.

Dementors all around Little Whinging had been surrounding the house in the last few minutes, feeding on the despair that rolled off it in waves. There was no more happiness in the walls of the structure, it had been sucked dry. It was just a shell, the dead bodies of the inhabitants testament to the workings of the dark creatures.

As the life left Piers' body, they glided away, disappearing into the fog to find a new victim.

With his working hand Piers smothered his lips with blood and kissed his mother's pristine cheek, thinking that he had loved her once, trying to pass those memories to her soul on the otherside.

"You wretched bitch, my mom..."

&

Dudley sat up in his bed, his eyes swerving to the empty sleeping bag on the floor. "Shit! God damn it, Piers."

He didn't expect the best.


End file.
